Giggy, Bubba, and Ryry: Growing Up with My Siblings Growing up with Jenna was… something else. Our nicknames for each other— Giggy for her, Bubba for me—sum up the chaos perfectly. She had ADHD, I had undiagnosed autism, and somehow, we were a perfect storm. Scratches, bruises, pencils thrown near my eye… our fights were epic. And our parents? They just let us go at it. They figured separating us was pointless because we’d just start again the moment the room emptied. Somehow, eventually, we got tired of it. The endless battles faded, and out of that chaos grew a closeness I wouldn’t trade for anything. Jenna isn’t just my sister anymore—her kids feel like mine, and I know we’d both do anything for each other. Then there’s Ryan— Ryry . Five years younger than me, seven younger than Jenna. As a kid, he begged Mom to make me play with him. I never did. Not because I didn’t care, but because I couldn’t. Being autistic, I didn...

When My Body Hit Panic Mode at Work Yesterday at work, I was just standing at my counter, waiting for the next customer to walk through the door, when out of nowhere, my heart rate spiked. I don’t know what triggered it—nothing obvious set me off—but my body went straight into fight or flight. Box breathing didn’t help much. Stimming didn’t either. I felt trapped inside my own body, my pulse racing up to 130 bpm, according to my smartwatch. I was dizzy, faint, and still—I had to push through. A customer walked in right in the middle of it, and like I always do, I threw on my mask. I covered my autistic traits. I forced myself past a breaking point I should have never crossed. Worst decision I’ve made in a long time. I helped the customer anyway, even though I was falling apart inside. The second I was done, I went straight to my manager and told him I needed to sit down. Thankfully, he said okay. I asked John if he could come back early from lunch, and he did—which I’m g...